While at Soundwave in Sydney we took the opportunity to see Falling In Reverse. Due to the band still not playing the UK, it felt like the right time to check out one of metal’s most controversial bands of recent years.
It’s Not Just Kids In Here
Despite what you might think, Falling In Reverse’s crowd isn’t just full of screaming teenagers – although there are a certainly a few. The hangar that is playing host to Stage 3 is packed with thousands of fans of all ages – from the hench 40-year-old in a Metallica vest to the little girl wearing oversized ear protectors, the buzz of FiR is too much to resist.
Ronnie’s Got The Attitude
The debate about whether Falling In Reverse’s music is metal will probably never be resolved, but without a doubt Ronnie has that metal attitude of simply not giving a fuck. He never has, and tonight onstage as he swaggers around like he owns the place, Mr Radke has his masses in the palms of his inky hands and can do as he pleases. Not only that, but his metalcore growl is seriously powerful when it ricochets off the giant metal shed in which he conducts his sermons.
Man Can Write A Chorus
The pop sensibilities of Falling In Reverse are what drive a lot of metal ‘elitists’ away from the Vegas rockstars, but after a couple of beers and when you’re surrounded by a devoted FiR audience (who are probably only seeing him for the first time), the urge to nod and sing a long is insurmountable. Grown men stand at the back of the room going just as hard as the teenie boppers on the barrier, which is admirable for any band – especially one who splits opinions as strongly as Radke and co.
The Crowd Is Metal
Even though the majority of the audience most likely don’t go home and listen to Morbid Angel, they know how to thrown down a pit or two. Walls of death, circle pits, a ton of crowdsurfers and everything else you see at a heavy metal show emanates from the 2000+ FiR contingent. And they’re louder than a pissed off tank when they need to be.
Everyone Wants Some Gucci Sneaks
Apparently. We’re not entirely sure what they are, and as we live in battered boots and fucked-up trainers we’ll probably never see them.